


It's yours

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Burn baby burn, Endgame, M/M, Mild Angst, mcu - Freeform, quote canon unqoute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 08:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19147570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Inspired by that fanart in tumblr where after Tony gave his arc reactor to Steve then, Steve goes back to return it.





	It's yours

The air is oddly clean, when it hits him. He closes the door behind him silently and takes a lungful of breath. It’s not aseptic, really, like hospital air tends to be. Just _, too clean_. Maybe it’s because the room is an extension of the compound and not of a health care facility, but still. It brings back decades old memories from the 40s like a wild rush.

He spots the mess of hair immediately, spilling beneath a large clump of blanket and bedding and his chest aches from the emptiness he tried to hide for so long. It’s odd how his body recognizes it as threat when once upon a time, it was nothing but calm and happiness. The ache is old, dull and permanent from before but now it comes with a lick of fire and it burns. Everything. His stomach, his throat and his eyes.

He takes another deep breath and moved. He’s been a long standing advocate of ‘putting-it-for-too-long’ and he’s done with that. This is a wound he needs the peel the scab off, before it starts to dry and scar permanently.

He’s hesitant when he reaches the bed. Suddenly becoming aware how the room is barren of any chairs and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Oh, bullshit.

He knows. He knows exactly what he wants to do. He wants to touch. He wants to sit on the bed and run his fingers through that mess of graying locks and he wants the feel the warmth of blood coursing under that ageing skin. He wants to touch and he wants to keep touching. Keep holding this fella. _His_ fella. He wants to hold him so he’ll never lose him again but –

His breath stutters out of his lungs, sinking his sternum painfully into his chest. Even just thinking about what he wants is punishing. Like a punch to the solar plexus and he gets paralyzed. But that’s not what he’s here for. The metal in his hand digs deeper into his palm and he holds tighter, grounding himself to the focus of his purpose in the room. Because touching is not why he’s here for. He’s not here to take but to give. To _give back_ , more precisely.

He eyes the table beside the bed. Empty except for a table lamp and a black trail of it’s wire. Then he looks at the object in his hand. An intricate design edging a triangular blue casing. It doesn’t glow anymore and that is – That is-

A painful exhale leaves his chest, his stomach churning uncomfortably. The last time the glow wasn’t there, he had put it out with his own hand.

And that acts as his propeller, forcing him to rid his touch off that thing. Albeit hurriedly and clumsily because then, the arc-reactor lands with a heavy thud on the table, spinning noisily before settling flat on its base and Steve holds his breath in the entire time, hearing a sudden rustle of the sheet.

“Steve?”

Fuck. There it goes. He’s just so damn good at fucking things up with this man, isn’t he?

“I came to return-,”

“I don’t want it.”

“Tony-,”

Tony, what?

Tony, please? Tony, don’t? Tony, I’m sorry? Tony, please, don’t leave me?

Tony, what?

“This belongs to you.”

Tony shakes his head, breathing out a long slow exhale and Steve aches and aches for him. For how fragile he looks. How shrunken and exhausted to the depth, as if all his fight has upped and left.

“Oh, Tony.” He rushes, when the man struggles to sit up, one hand wobbling threateningly on the mattress, trying to hold his weight as he uses the rest of his weight to push himself up to lean against the headboard.

The second he succeeds in helping Tony sit up against the headboard, his head spins. Giddy in relief because he wasn’t pushed off. And he occupies himself to fiddle with the sheet and tuck them neatly around Tony. His eyes burn and he blinks and blinks until his vision clears.

“There.” He murmurs and his voice cracks, eyes widening in surprise when he looks up because he hadn’t noticed how close he is to Tony until now.

“Thanks.” Tony whispers hoarsely and Steve swallows. Remembering.

How the last time they had been this close, it was in blue shirt and a tuxedo. How it was noisy outside but muffled once the door was shut. How it was a little tinge of alcohol in the air but heavy clouds of heat closing in. How it was a soft, _‘Hey,’_ followed by a softer plead _, ‘Tony-,’_ How incredibly high his heart soared when the distance closed and it was a soft gasp before it was wet. Wet and warm. Warm and ache. A good kind of ache. The one that bore down your chest like a heavy weight, making you paralyzed and lighting you up from the inside. The kind that made his head spin in circles after circles and all your muscle taught and he remembers. Remembers how his heart swelled with pleasure and his skin craved more. Remembers how Tony gave and gave and Steve took it all.

He remembers.

How the last time they had been this close, it was cold and hot at the same time. How the wind was sharp, slapping and it burned. How there was blood in his hand, his glove torn at the knuckles and it stung but he carried on. How he gave and gave and Tony took it all. One blow after another, coming and he kept them coming. How the fury raged in his chest, and guilt coiled within him like a serpent and he was going blind because why was he hurting the man he loved and why can’t he stop. Why the pent up anger? Why it still hurt to remember that Tony never trusted him enough to share his plan to protect the earth. How it ached when he thought of Sokovia and Ultron and he wished he was Bruce and Tony would have trusted. He remembers how his shield became a weapon. Remembers how Steve gave and gave and Tony took it all.

“I’m sorry.” He says now. His fingers trembling and his eyes burning but he couldn’t blink. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“For what?” Tony asks. His exhale huffs out and he inhales in a shudder, pulling away and Steve realizes how he’s trying to get away and he lets go. Watching Tony slip away from his hold and he thinks.

 _‘Sorry for only giving you pain when all you gave me was happiness. A home. A home which I, then destroyed. I’m so sorry_.’ He thinks.

He says. “For everything.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah.” He sighs later. When Steve has pulled away and back to ground zero, where he stands beside the bed not knowing what to do with himself. All over again. “I’m sorry, too.” Tony says.

“You shouldn’t be.” Steve shakes his head.

“I am.” Tony says, his brown eyes big and wide like they were when he faced Steve earlier. But the malice is missing. There are no anger there, just defeat. And somehow, that hurts even more.

“Tony-,”

“I’m sorry for us.” Tony sighs, holding up a hand and he turns away to look at the window, leaving Steve speechless.

His chest heaves and each inhale feels like a prickle of needle poking all around his lungs. His throat constricts painfully, feeling like a lump in his throat he cannot get rid of and Steve clenches his fists tighter and tighter until the pain of his nails digging into his palm triumphs that in his chest.

Tony’s hand drops to his side limply and Steve watches as his ribs become more visible as Tony inhales. His lips stretches tight and pale and Steve watches him. Watches how his hands tries to clench into fist but they tremble weakly and give out on him. Watches how Tony closes his eyes for a whole five seconds before opening them and glaring at the window. Steve watches him. Watches how his lack of strength is irritating Tony.

Then he pulls a deep breath in himself, looks away at the arc-reactor he came to return and he clenches his jaw as his eyes start burning with a renewed passion.

“Do you think-,” He asks, voice rougher than he’d heard of himself, and his throat spasms, almost choking him in the effort of getting one word out after another. He takes another sharp inhale and tries again. “Do you think, you and me, we could have been something if – If-,” He stammers.

He couldn’t finish. His vision clouds again and he blinks profusely, refusing to look away from the table and up. Refusing to let his eyes look anywhere else and it falls. A single pathetic tear. Splotch against the dark wood and Steve stares, betrayed by his own body.

His question is met with silence. A silence that stretches and stretches into nothing. He doesn’t hear the sheet rustle or any other sound of movement. The room still in its palpable silence and it’s too clean air that makes his head and heart ache.

He takes another deep inhale, tasting the too clean air in his tongue and he forces his thoughts to focus on the imminent mission. The ship is scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning and Steve could really use some alone time to plaster his heart in solitude.

“Take care, Tony.” He whispers into the silence. Filling it one last time with his presence before he turns to leave but then Tony speaks.

“Take that.” He says. Steve looks where his eyes are trained at and he follows them to that triangular device on that table.

“Tony-,” He begins, but Tony’s already leaning forward and retrieving it, moving to grab Steve’s hand like he did hours before but there’s a distinct gentleness now as he curls his shaking fingers around Steve’s wrist and he places the arc-reactor back in Steve’s open palm.

Steve’s fingers closes around the triangle, the weight settling in with an aching familiarity and Tony lets go. “Take it.” He whispers, replacing all the distance and cold air in between them along with that dull ache and he leans back against the headboard, staring out the window again as if nothing significant had happened.

And Steve thinks that’s cruel because Tony might as well has placed his heart in Steve’s hand and yelled _‘it’s yours’_ to him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is shitting me now so I couldn't find the post but once I do, I'll link it in here.  
> found it :  
> https://thefuzzyaya.tumblr.com/post/185065790530/steve-returning-tony-his-heart-endgame


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